Blanket Thief
by RunningInAir
Summary: One-shot. Dreo. Second-person. Alternate perspectives. Fluff. "It's amazing to you that you're in this situation right now - that you are in Theodore Nott's bedroom, but it's more than that. It's that you know the way the mattress will feel beneath your body, because you have lain on it so many times."


A/N: So, if you haven't noticed, Dreo is one of my absolutely favorite pairings. This is just a little fluffy thing I wrote, and thanks to **alwaysxsaidsnape** for reading this over for me and giving me input. She's the best. She also is the best writer for Theodore I've ever seen, and I fashioned him to fit her version of his character in this one-shot. Go read her stuff. She's amazing.

* * *

**Draco**

The floor here always seems so much warmer than the stones that serve as the foundation of your own manor, and that is ridiculous, because it's nearly the exact same material. Somehow, _everything_ here is just more comfortable. That bothered you, at first, because you didn't think you were meant to be so comfortable in Theodore's house, but the fact remains that, in the handful of months you've been staying here, this place has felt more like home than the manor you grew up in ever has.

A part of you is saddened at that. It is almost a betrayal of your parents' memories to not want to stay in your ancestral home, but that's merely the truth. You have found a home here. You have found a home in _him_.

It's quiet here. It always is – unless the dogs are inside, at any rate. A smile graces your lips as images of Theo playing with them dance through your mind. He's never quite as handsome as when he is happy. There is a sadness in Theo; you can always see it just behind his eyes, but when he's truly happy, his entire face changes – and it resonates deep within you in a breath-taking way. You would do anything to see that look on his face every day, and you try your hardest to make it so.

The walls are cool beneath your fingers, but you've made a habit of gliding them along as you walk towards the bedroom. At your house, you can't do this. Portraits cover the corridors, lines of ancestors dating back to further than you care to remember. Here, there are no such decorations. The only pictures you've ever seen are of his mother, and even those are few and far between. Sometimes, you try and remember just what she was like, if for no other reason than to feel that much closer to the man you've grown to love, but you can't, and you curse yourself for being so self-centered all of your life.

You would give anything to have known the woman that nurtured the goodness in Theo.

A soft sigh leaves your lips, adding to the stillness of the night, as you turn into the bedroom. The Master bedroom lies untouched farther down the hall. There is a reason he doesn't ever go in there, but you haven't asked. If Theo wants you to know something, he will tell you.

For a moment, you pause at the door, letting your eyes adjust to the slightly dimmer interior, though there is no reason to. You have been here long enough that you could navigate the room blind, but this is your favorite part of coming to bed at night – seeing Theodore there. With the sheets pulled up to just below his bellybutton, his back resting easily against a pillow, and a book in his hands…you have never seen anything quite so beautiful in your life. It's the way his eyes focus on the words in front of him. The way his hair is tousled just a little bit, as if he has just run his hands through it. The way his fingers clasp the cover of the book.

"Are you going to come to bed, or are you just going to linger in the doorway and stare at me all night long?"

His eyes don't leave the page as he speaks, and it makes the smile on your face stretch all the more, because it is just so _Theo_.

"I don't know. I rather like staring at you."

His head moves side to side infinitesimally, a soft snort accompanying the movement. It's amazing to you that you're in this situation right now - that you are in Theodore Nott's bedroom, but it's more than that. It's that you know the way the mattress will feel beneath your body, because you have lain on it so many times. You know how much longer Theo will read before turning the lights off. You know that he will lean over to kiss your cheek, thinking you have been asleep for several minutes, though you are really still awake, because you enjoy listening to every little move he makes. You know which way he lays down first when he sleeps, and to exactly which position he'll shift next. It's almost a pattern, and you marvel at the fact that you have been with him long enough to know these things.

It's almost been a year that you've slept by his side, but it could have been thirty years and you would still not think it enough.

It is blessedly warm beneath the sheets, and you swiftly burrow beneath them, shifting closer to the center of the bed. That's always how it happens – you're the one who moves closer. You know it's not because Theo doesn't care about you, or that he doesn't _want _to be closer to you, but distance is his modus operandi. He never spurns you, and so you know you're wanted, because Merlin knows that Theo never does anything he doesn't want to do. So, you scoot closer, tugging your pillow with you, until you're close enough to nudge his leg with your own and rest your hand on his arm. He doesn't say anything, but you see the slightest tilt of his lips, and it warms your entire body from the inside out.

"Goodnight, Theo," you murmur softly.

"Goodnight, Draco," he replies, and that tenderness in his voice is what you hold onto as you fall asleep.

**Theo**

The room is still pitch black when you shiver yourself awake, and without even having to feel for the blankets, you know exactly where they will be.

Sighing softly, you open your eyes and stare at the ceiling, contemplating if it would actually be worth the effort to try and wrestle the covers from your boyfriend, who is currently cocooned within them.

No. No, it would definitely not be worth the effort, and as much as you don't want to have to get out of bed to get another blanket, walking the few feet to the closet is easier than trying to get anything from Draco when he doesn't want to give it up – particularly when he's sleepy.

The last thing you need in the wee hours of the morning is a Malfoy Temper Tantrum.

So, you throw your legs over the side of the bed, cast a brief warming charm on the bottoms of your feet to keep them protected from the cold stone, and make your way to the linen closet just outside of the bedroom. It isn't until you're back in the bed, the new blanket draped over your body that you roll onto your side, barely able to make out the bright blond hair of the man sleeping next to you.

It has taken you some time to get used to having Draco around, but you've come to enjoy his presence, even if he does irritate the hell out of you fairly often. It's hard to stay frustrated with him when he turns those grey eyes on you – eyes that were always cold and arrogant, but soften and warm when they're directed at you.

Unexpected. That's what this relationship has been.

You lift a hand to brush the backs of your fingers along Draco's cheek. His skin is always so soft, so pale. Well…until you make him blush. A sleepy smile decorates your lips for a moment.

Yes, unexpected. Wonderfully so.

You lie there for a while longer, watching him sleep, sighing softly, because you know exactly what is going to happen when he wakes up and sees that you are now beneath a separate blanket.

He'll frown as if you have deeply offended him, that lower lip just short of a pout.

"_Theo, what are you doing under your own blanket?"_

And it doesn't matter that you have explained it to him several times in the past couple of weeks alone. It doesn't matter that he is the one who stole all the covers on this rather large bed and managed to wrap them _all_ around his slender body. Draco Malfoy, the boy who always got everything he wanted, will assume that you got your own blanket to avoid being in close physical proximity with him, even though you know that _he_ knows that it isn't true at all.

But that's Draco. You knew he had an ego – of course, you knew that – and you knew how much of his confidence was nothing but a front put up to impress his father, but you hadn't quite guessed just how much validation he'd need, as if you are going to turn away from him at any moment and leave.

Quite a pair you make. He, attached and insecure. You, _detached_ and emotionally stunted.

Really, it's a miracle you've made it this long.

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing the strands back and away from his face, leaving you a space on which to press your lips before you settle back down beneath your solitary blanket. Might as well get some rest before the inevitable pout-fest that will occur in the morning.

A breath of a laugh ghosts past your lips.

Draco Malfoy may be an idiot, but he's _your_ idiot, and despite his flaws, you adore him, because – despite your own – he loves you.


End file.
